Aches, Pains, and A Whole Lotta Cash
by Thegirlwhoneverforgot
Summary: Little shorts pre-series, during series, LOTS of whumpy moments for Dean. Some angst. Mostly when he's alone. First one, "Hurt". Second one, "Wanderer". Lot's of Dean whump! T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

Hurt

 **Yes, "Hurt" by Johnny Cash. Same title, same meaning. This short is inspired by the song. Take place pre-series,. Oh, and not a dark fic. Just lots of hurt. I do not own Supernatural. First Supernatural fiction. Enjoy.**

Dean ran through the woods, tripping and stumbling as he ran from the spirit. It was pissed. He was pissed. And a whole lot pissed was gonna get someone (thing) hurt. Like foresay, a spirit, who doesn't like people messing with its bones, and eager to whack you with a tree branch. A thorny tree branch. The spirit was trying to scare-direct him away from the bones, but Dean wasn't going to have it. He saw the ugly pit that he had dug earlier to burn the bones, and he ran faster. He tripped, fell and cried out as his protesting aches and pains grew. He got up, only feeling the pain and ran towards the burial site, the spirit hot on his trail. Dean sank to the ground next to his bag, ripped out the salt and half-hazardly tossed it all over the bones. He pulled out a match, lit it, and dropped it in, watching the bones erupt into flames. Dean looked at the spirit erupt into flames and disappear in a whiff of smoke. Dean sighed, exhausted. He picked up his bag and headed to the car, ready to call it a night.

He was driving down the road, his eyes threatening to fall shut. He decided to listen to some music that would try to keep him awake. He randomly put a cassette in and listened.

" _I hurt myself, today. To see if I still feel…"_ Dean shook his head, forcing the sleep out of his eyes. His battered chest protested in pain and the cuts on his torso stung.

 _Try to focus on the pain… The only thing that's real. The needle tears a hole. The old familiar sting._

Dean tried to think about something else. He was hurting too much and he had to stay awake. Sammy? Sammy. He wondered how he was doing. What was his little brother doing so far in college? He should go check on him, even though dad did three weeks ago… before he went dark. Dad. Where did dad go? To hunt the Demon. His injuries flared in pain and Dean grunted, wincing.

 _Try to kill it all away, but I remember everything._

Dean remembered his first hunt. A spirit. It kicked his ass but he one hell of a time. He also remembered how much he really wanted Sam to come. But Sam didn't want to because he questioned dad's authority. He questioned _everything._ And that made a small barrier between him and Sam. They still were best brothers. But Dean changed. He became a soldier for his father. He wanted his dad's approval and he earned it. He decided he was going to keep it. Sam was somewhat pushed to the side in sight of trust. Now Sam was gone to college, pursuing a different life and Dean continued the "family business". Sam was gone, with an actual girlfriend. Whereas, Cassie, for Dean, gone after he said "Supernatural hunter." The two brothers had changed drastically.

 _What have I become my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end. And you could have it all, my empire of dirt._

Dean remembered Sam and Dad's last argument, the last time they were all together. College vs. Hunting. Hunting was everything to Dean. College and getting away was everything to Sam. When Dean sided with his dad and actually yelled at Sam to not go to college, that was when everything Sam and Dean had together just split. In the end, Sam was hurt.

 _I will let you down. I will make you hurt._

Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and stiffly walked to his room. He pulled out his first aid kit from his bag and pulled off his shirt, hissing as some tag-along-thorns were yanked from his skin. He looked in the mirror and saw the black and blue bruise spread across his torso and reached as far as to his shoulder. He plucked out the remaining thorns and pulled out several antiseptic wipes. The alcohol burned in the abrasions, and his skin tingled and numbed in pain. There was one, gash up underneath his collarbone.

"Stiches are bitches," Dean muttered as he sat on the bed again, rummaging through the kit looking for a needle.

 _I wear this crowd of thorns, upon my liar's chair._

Pain raged through his torso as he finished the stitches on himself. He was glistening in sweat, out breath and desperate for a drink. He remembered Sam's first hunt. He earned a nice gash to his forehead, and Dean had to fix it. It all helped Sam not to like hunting any more than what he did. Dean pulled a clean shirt on and sat there thinking about his mistakes against Sam that probably led him to leave.

 _Full of broken thoughts I cannot repair._

The sudden discomfort of shame rattled Dean and he grabbed a beer from the fridge. He took a large swig and settled down at the small corner table, reading his dad's journal. His mind still continued to wander. Here he was, alone. Sam, not so alone. Had a cute girlfriend, Jess. He of course did a background check just to be sure.

 _Beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear. You are someone else, while I am still right here._

Dean climbed into his small, rusty, motel bed and settled his aching body down. He grabbed an extra pillow and hugged it against his throbbing chest. He buried his head in the pillow, and sudden sob racked his body. He cried quietly into the pillow. He missed the family. Look at it now? Gone. Dissipated. Extinct. Sam to college. His dad to god-knows-where. Obvious since he changed his voicemail. He just wanted his family back. He wanted mom. Dad. Sammy. Why couldn't they? What was so wrong that they couldn't have been… normal maybe? He would never admit it, but if normal meant having his family together and back then normal it would be. Where did he go wrong? How was he wrong when he was out to kill evil? Why was it wrong? If he had sided with Sammy in that argument, would they be together? Maybe. Just maybe. There was more hope in that. But he couldn't do it. He cried into that borrowed pillow until he fell asleep to nightmares of the choices he made that brought him there.

 _If I could start again, a million miles away. I would keep myself._

 _I would find a way._

 **Good no? You like? You must. I insist. Very angsty. I do not own Supernatural just the ideas in this story. Oh, and Nine Inch Nails owns the song, but this whole time I was thinking it sung by Johnny Cash. I Might do another Super short *lol* with another Johnny Cash song. I might make a series. Apologies for the b**** word. Had to capture Dean's character.**

 **Thanks!**

 **Thegirlwhoneverforgot.**


	2. Wanderer

The Wanderer

 **Second short. Dean Whump. Based off of "The Wanderer" by Johnny Cash. I'm not kidding, I'm gonna do this. Lots of whumpage stories to relate to Johnny Cash songs. Hope ya like!**

Dean pulled the Impala into an abandoned parking lot. He was in a small ghost town. Now, a tourist attraction in Arizona, but dangerous. It was crawling with spirits. Angry spirits. It used to be a gold mining town. History was the mine collapsed on most of the miners, who were also married, and not ready to die. Now, they had hurt a passing family, nearly killing their little girl. So, Dean felt more than obligated to take down these spirits.

He stepped out the car, grabbing his weapon/spirit control bag and made his way to the main street of the deserted town. He started on the left side, walking along the old board walk of the side of the street. He peeked in to every room, walking along the street.

 _I went walking, out through the streets of gold. Turned some stones, saw the skin and bones of a city without a soul. I went walking, under an atomic sky. Where the ground don't turn and the rain it burns like the tears when I said good-bye._

Dean was ready to find Sam. He was going to tell him about Dad. But, then this arose. Now crap's gonna go down. He was wandering throughout the town trying to find something. He was practically dangling himself out there for those spirits but they sure weren't having it. He occasionally stopped at a random plaque or info board to see if he could get any information about what happened there. From what he had learned, the town had much devastation. After the mine collapsed, the schoolhouse burned with children inside. Later, the church building was destroyed, killing the praying few that were inside. Anyone who remained died in some freak accident or hit the road, getting as far away from that cursed place. Well there was no curse as far as Dean could tell. The bodies of some of the miners were never retrieved. Angry spirits wreaking havoc on the town. So much havoc that the town believed they were cursed.

He decided he should look in the mine, because that was going to be his best bet on getting rid of these spirits.

 _I went wandering, through the capitals of tin. Where men can't walk or freely talk and sons turn their fathers in. I stopped outside a church house where the citizens like to sit. They say they want the kingdom, but they went let God in it._

Dean came to the opening of the shaft and peered in. He heard distant clinking noises, like pick axes and hammers. But the sounds died away quickly. Dean pulled out his EMF and watched as all six lights quickly turned red, blaring loudly. He turned it off and shoved it back in his coat pocket. This was the obvious place to be. He started walking down, holding out his rock salt rifle. About an hour walking around, and deep in the mineshaft, nothing showed. Nothing moved, though Dean's EMF would be off it's rocker whenever he turned it on. He eventually came to a boarded up shaft in the mine. Things like "dangerous" and "unstable" circled in his line of vision, but he easily ignored them as he took down some of the boards and stepped inside.

 _I went wandering down that winding road. Where no one's trusting no one. And conscience… to heavy a load. I went riding, down that ol'eight lane. I passed by a thousand signs, looking for my own name._

"Damn, I wish Dad was here. Or Bobby. Or Sam," he uttered quietly. There was a sudden tapping sound, that echoed through the mine. A hammer or axe that had stuck stone. It was so close to Dean, it startled him. He whirled around, looking wildly for the source of the sound. Then, out of the darkness, a pick axe flew at him. He managed to dodge it, but not enough where it still tore his jacket and into his right shoulder. Dean gritted his teeth, groaning slightly as his shoulder burned with pain. That spirit actually threw a pick axe at him! Spirits can't move things! Unless…

"You full on Swayzed that mother!" Dean exclaimed, dodging another pick axe. He skirted along the wall, flashing the light into the shaft. Maybe, maybe this spirit died with its pickaxe or something. Gosh, he might have to burn that too. That would explain why it only throws pick axes and why it can hold it. But then again, there were more spirits in the mine. It would be dangerous to burn stuff inside the mine. He also couldn't just find and bring out all the bodies without getting pickaxed again.

 _I went walking, out with a bible and a gun. The Word of God lay heavy on my heart I was sure that I was the one._

He escaped the forbidden shaft, running, tripping and dodging pick axes. He slumped to the ground in a heap next to the broken boards he tore down. He could feel himself wearing out, and he had to reach the top, and he had to burn the bodies. He glanced to the box on his left as he used it to stand up. The idea hit him as hard as the next wave of pain in his shoulder.

Dynamite. He was sure he had lost it now. He casually cracked open the box and pulled out seven out seven or eight packs of dynamite. He picked up his gun and stuffed it under his arm and he drew out a lighter. He lit the first pack and chucked it into the boarded up shaft. He didn't wait to see it land, he bolted. Rights, lefts, explosions and lots of turns didn't faze him as he continued to light and chuck dynamite behind him. He made another right and he saw a hint of daylight. He lit the last dynamite and tossed it behind him as he ran up and out.

* * *

Then a stupid rock seemed to stick out just an inch too much. Dean caught his foot on it and ate the gravel. He glanced behind him to see the lit up stick of dynamite about to burn out. Another explosion, closer. Rocks were falling. Some hitting him without a care, giving him more bruises and scrapes then he needed. The mine was collapsing. Dean picked himself up, grabbing his gun and staggered towards the exit. He was so exhausted, drained and hurt. But he tried. He ran as fast as he could towards the exit. He was so close, and yet so far. The last dynamite exploded. The force of the explosion knocked loose a large beam that swung down and crashed into Dean as he just reached the exit. The rest of the explosion tossed him outside, along with burning debris. He lay there, aching, his vision dimming to eventual darkness.

 _Jesus, don't you wait up. Jesus I will be home soon._

* * *

Dean slowly opened his burning eyes. He coughed up dust and looked up. The mine was still ablaze. No one was there… yet. And that's when he decided it was time to leave that forsaken place. He sat stiffly in his car and started the engine. His head rattled with pain. He pulled out of that empty parking lot and back onto the empty highway headed for the nearest town. He desperately needed a shower.

When he had reached a motel, it took only two minutes to explain to the clerk why he was dusty and slightly battered from head to toe. He couldn't remember his excuse but he was glad she gave him a room. He tossed his bag aside, and hopped in the shower. His shoulder continued to bleed under the running water and stung from being touched. He also found other cuts and scrapes as they stung from the water.

He tiredly put on some sleep shorts but didn't bother to put a shirt on as he had to examine the new wound. He sat on the bed, pulling out the first aid kit and first cleaned it out. It had managed to stop bleeding shortly after and he was able to see that it was a pretty deep wound. It was no clean slice either. He sighed and pulled out the needle and thread and started giving himself stitches. After the sixth stitch, his hands were shaking, he was breathing hard and was glistening with sweat. He paused, breathing heavily, forcing himself to then continue. Eleven stitches in all and he was spent. He was burning on fumes ever since he left the mine. Wrapped his shoulder in some gauze, checked for anything else that was bleeding, took some Advil then stiffly laid down. His head sunk into the pillow and he let out a long sigh. He couldn't do this anymore. Not without help. Dad was missing, and he had to find him. At that moment, he felt so alone. His eyelids slid shut and he flitted off into a sleep that only had one thing: Sam.

* * *

 **More whumpy than the first one, and I didn't use all the lyrics of this song, but I hope ya like!**


End file.
